


Three Times a Lady

by NadiaDeville (BlueSteelFairy)



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Lemon, NSFW, Unspoken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 05:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13140471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSteelFairy/pseuds/NadiaDeville
Summary: Winter Schnee may never be able to act on her particular affections due to her position in the Atlesian Military, but that's only in her waking hours. Subconsciously is another story. || A set of three secret naughty fantasies of Winter Schnee, featuring a certain superior officer.





	Three Times a Lady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrokenLevel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenLevel/gifts).



Winter had seen General Ironwood just once, after a particularly terrible airship crash, as he was beneath the uniform. She'd been terrified when he'd run into the inferno, but he had emerged unharmed. One by one he'd extracted the crew, leaving none behind. And each trip back, as she helped run the survivor triage, she noticed more of his uniform had torn or burned away.

She couldn't be sure exactly how much of the general was Cybernetics, but Winter estimated most of the right half of his body. It wasn't that she didn't think he would tell her-it was very possible they were already far closer than they should have been. She'd told him things no one else knew, and she was privy to secrets no one else could hear. However, she did not wish to draw out information the general didn't wish to share. She was his subordinate, a specialist, not someone with whom he needed share the nature of his physical form.

No matter how much she wished he would share with her. Of course, Winter found the daydreams and dreams slip into her mind during slow times, unbidden. She couldn't stop her subconscious from playing on her forbidden feelings for the general, not matter how desperately she wanted too.

None of them  _ started _ physical. In general, sexual activities lacked interest to Winter. It would seem when just the right person was involved, the story was different. They would start innocent. A love note during her academy years. A confession on the eve of battle. A different life, where she was any other woman and free to pursue the man she loved. She'd deny all of these, vehemently, and was certain she could fool most tests.

* * *

Winter had three favorite fantasies featuring General Ironwood, considered on her late, lonely evenings. The first was past impossible, an early fever dream from her academy days. It had been planted in her fourth and final year, when one of her teammates referred to the uniforms as 'easy access'. At the time Winter had been naive, and asked what that meant.

That night, she'd found herself reliving every stolen glance, and each time she'd gone to his office to ask for additional details about missions, or something else she didn't really need. And as sleep took Winter, she was once again stepping into his office. This time however, it was daybreak, and she clicked the door lock shut behind her. He'd looked up, surprised by her late arrival, but not unwelcoming in his expression. In an unusually bold and forward move she had stepped forward to stuff a bundle of cloth in his jacket pocket- _ her panties _ . It was a very direct signal, she'd seen it in a movie, she was sure.

Papers were shoved away as the general whisked her up to set at the edge of his desk. She'd sighed, content, happy with his touch, his attention. Then she was caught in a heated kiss, a hand in her hair, and the other hiking up her skirt. The fabric bunched, and she moaned as he stepped between her legs, freed hand moving to grasp one of her breasts through layers of fabric.

The first time she had that dream, he'd simply claim her there, laying holding her flush to him as he moved. She'd call out and grasp his shoulders as she rolled against him, pleading for him not to go easy on her, that she loved him, and she wanted to be whatever he needed. She had flushed, has ground her hips forward, relishing the feeling of their joining as he worked her to completion, his own conclusion warming her from the inside out.

The second time she had the dream, he was more wild, and she was bent over the desk as he pulled open her blouse. Winter could remember how she imagined his gloved hands feeling over her breasts, ducking under her bra, as he pounded into her from behind. He'd tug her hair, and she'd cry out, but she'd always ask for more.

What school girl escaped without fantasy?

* * *

The next fantasy Winter favored had been born after the airship crash. She had realized that the version of General Ironwood that her younger self had imagined was likely not how he was. No, he couldn't be that cavalier, could he? Instead she'd imagine accidentally walking in on him sans shirt, or in some state of undress. He'd apologize for his state and try to turn away.

But she would stop him. Winter would always step forward, unafraid and unbothered by his appearance. She'd seen it, in passing, so she wasn't surprised. She wasn't a school girl anymore, but a young woman showing the passions she held in her heart. She'd bring one hand up to his cheek to caress, and the other to rest where metal seemed to meet flesh. Spying conflict on his face, Winter made the decision to silent protests to come with her lips softly pressed to his. He would always hesitate, but then arms would be drawn around one another.

She would let the general take his time to undress, but she'd encourage him, promising him it was his heart, she cared for. The rest was handsome, yes, but not why she cared for him. Winter's hands would move across herself, slowly allowing garments ot fall away until she was left bare to him, and her hair allowed to fall past her shoulders, almost covering her breasts.

It was likely he'd intended to carry her to the bed, but they'd never quite make it that far. Sometimes he'd pin her to the door, and claim her with slow, strong, deep strokes. Other times she'd pull him down over her on the table, promising him she didn't want anything else, only him and whatever he would offer her. Later she developed her favorite take, where she reassured him and consequently took charge, straddling her hips over his.

The pinch would pass, he'd notice a drop or two of red where their bodies joined, and begin to protest. Winter would silence him with another kiss and draw each of his hands into hers, if not to her breasts. She prefered neither, because both were part of him. Slowly she'd begin to move, moaning softly at the sensations of their physical union, and she hoped to some small part emotional. Then fingers would lace with one another as they moved, rolled their hips together, and made love. She'd change her pattern when he began to twitch, a playful move to prolong the inevitable. Sometimes she went over the edge first, other times he did. Either way she would slide herself off him and kiss every inch of him to reassure his worries.

* * *

The third fantasy was probably the most embarrassing, if Winter were to be polled. It was the union of her affection and attraction towards General Ironwood-their wedding night. The event would be small, a private reception. It mostly only mattered to them. Somehow they had fought so hard, and they had earned peace, if only for a short while. She would dress in white with a red sash-in memory of her grandfather, and because she likely wasn't virginal by then. He would be in his dress uniform, and they would both be smiling dumbly as they spoke vows.

It wouldn't be a honeymoon suite. Simply a private one, where two individuals of note wouldn't be seen slipping in or out. Clean, comfy, with a large bed that may have been circular. He would push and pull her dress away as he laid her out, bringing soft kisses down her chest, across her belly-a belly they hoped against hope they might plant new life in.

He was always the most confident in these scenarios. He trusted her entirely, and knew she wouldn't look away or scream. She could grant him control and knew he wouldn't change his mind. Her hands would glide softly down his chest, and his up hers. Every movement soft, calm, loving, and lending fuel to their rising flames of passion.

Every movement he took was calculated, and every thrust was measured and delibarate. They'd learned each other's bodies by then, and she knew how to hike her hips with a cushion so he he descended through every inch of space within her. His shaft would kiss her womb with every movement, its intent and purpose blissfully clear as he touched her, kissed her, and loved her in every way. In this case, he'd always nudge her over the edge first, so she would clench down and hold tight, thus squeezing every last drop of his seed when he came inside her.

* * *

Naturally, Winter shared none of these fantasies with the object of her affection. It wasn't even fear of rejection that stopped her-no, it was much more the opposite. The fear that he wouldn't dismiss her, and instead they would be left with desire, mutual love, and the knowledge that to so much as touch at that point would be against so many regulations. Instead she'd simply smile, salute, and follow his orders. She would daydream of what could never be-and in waking hours, spend as much time in the service of the man she loved as possible.


End file.
